


The Sound of Silence

by Jennifer-Oksana (JenniferOksana)



Series: Sensationalism [3]
Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: F/M, Masturbation, Overhearing Sex, Sexual Fantasy, Smut, Vibrators, Wrong
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-16
Updated: 2016-02-16
Packaged: 2018-05-20 21:40:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,248
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6026061
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JenniferOksana/pseuds/Jennifer-Oksana
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dirty old vampires and wicked little girls listen, very quietly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Sound of Silence

The right thing to do would be to close the door, but she’d hear it and I’d shame the Bit to no end. Screeching teenage hissy fit a go-go would result, and it’s not like I’m hearing anything. All right, so I’m hearing something, but it can’t be what I’m thinking it is. Dawn’s too young to own something like that, and Buffy’d never approve.

But I know what I’m hearing, that electric hum, the little whir. The wet smack. There’s not much else it could be.

If I just ignore it, it’ll turn into blooming white noise and not the sound of a vibrator between my ex-girl’s little sister’s pretty white thighs. That’s right, just flip on the telly and relax. Fred’s counting on me to be a good babysitter so that when she and Willow get back from their possibly, maybe, for fuck’s sake just admit it date, there’s no unpleasantness.

Been going a treat, too. We had hamburgers on the Wolfram and Hart corporate card, big tray of fries, and I even bought Dawn her first fruity girl drink, on the grounds that she’d earned a 4.0 for her senior year so far.

“If you become a ragin’ alcoholic, just blame it on me,” I advised her as she sipped at the very weak strawberry margarita. “Make sure Buffy kicks the right arse an’ all.”

Dawn grinned, looking like a Tolkien elf of sorts with the big blue eyes and glow-y white skin, like Liv Tyler but without the special lighting, cuz of course Summers women got that glow to ’em.

“Can we be friends again?” she asked, twirling the straw in the sweet sludge. “I know we weren’t, for like, a long time, because you and the Buffy-stalking and the creepy, but…you’re all right now. And I think you should call Buffy some time. Not to, you know, date, but just let her know you’re back from the dead and doing okay.”

I was doing okay before Little Miss Summers left the door ajar, and now I’m fumbling for the remote and trying not to notice the slightest little mew I just heard. Damn supernatural senses. Must get it out of my head before I earn a whole new level of hellbound. After all, there’s got to be a special level for me and Angel and I’m not beating him to extra-special damned.

Jay Leno, the chin of my salvation! Bloody well difficult to get hot and bothered over anyone looking at him wagging his eyebrows and mouth like he was funny. Boring as all hell, that’s what he is. Easy to tune out.

Easy to forget that I turned him on not to listen to the very soft sounds making their way through the telly, just in the gaps. The shuffle of cotton cloth, the way that damn thing’s whirring louder. Could just be the damn heater clicking on, but I’m doubting it. My whole attention’s straining toward what sound Dawn makes next and feeling filthy, like a nasty old man in a trenchcoat at a downtown theatre, but wondering what kind of game this is for all that.

After all, closing a door makes a very distinct sound. Ker-thump, click. And if I was an eighteen-year-old girl who didn’t want the dirty vamp with the augmented hearing next door listening in on me playing with myself, I’d make damn sure the door was both closed and locked. Locks make very definitive sounds, too. Slide-click-thump, the last being the deadbolt, of course.

Bloody…wrongheaded….HELL. I’m not made of stone, though I might be wood, and I can see her if I close my eyes, grey cotton knickers hanging limply around one shapely angle, and the thin little tank shoved up so her nipples are barely covered so that one hand can tease and pinch at ’em while the other is driving…so to speak.

Gonna have to excuse myself to take a very quick shower, I think, because as daft as I am, not standing up, pulling that door shut, and turning up Jay Leno ’til I can’t hear anything except his yammering, because I’m not getting caught wanking in front of any woman. Especially not Dawn, her eyes screwed shut and her mouth loosely, limply open, trying to be very quiet. Or not so quiet, because I can’t hear anything except those soft little gasps and whimpers in the next room while I glare down at the traitor chafing to get out of my jeans.

The wet slap between her legs is only getting wetter, and I can hear her tensing up, those muscles tightening, begging her to let go, the hot little pants as her tongue keeps wetting her lips over and over, her fingers tugging at the point of each nipple as she does it harder. I want to know what she’s thinking about, knowing that I’m listening. She think it’s funny? She want to know if I’m still as big a lech as I was when I was doing bad, bad things to her sister?

Bloody woman. All I want is to unzip my fly and go at it, getting a little release right along with the Bit, but I’m not as big a fool as I used to be. Fool enough to listen to the cute little moans, to hear the shift of hot girl flesh pushing up and down, the sound of the vibrator being turned all the way up, but not fool enough to let on that I know, or that I know she knows I know what she’s about not ten feet away.

Damn near going to kill me, waiting to hear her finish, but I’m not going to deprive myself of the pleasure of hearing that hiccuped gasp, that blissed out moment when she starts pulsing around her safe and non-threatening rubber cock, riding it out with whimpers and long, painful breaths. Wouldn’t be fair, not after I’ve been so polite about her lapse of courtesy.

“Ooooh…” I hear, right on cue, and the semi-collapse against a creaky hotel mattress, the harsh breath as she comes hard. Yeah, I’m going to hell for it, but I can’t help but have an engraved image burning into my brain, not-so-little Dawn naked as she can be, back arched, breasts straining for the abandoning hand that’s sneaked down to rub the other side of her clit while the other holds the slick sex toy in place, sweating and gasping.

Hard not to hear what was intended for me, and I take that as an opportunity to get off the bed, head off for the toilet and service myself, but I’m so busy not listening that I miss the squeak of her mattress, the creak of the door, and a mussed Dawn giving me a look.

She looks at the bulge in my jeans. “Perv,” she accuses with a smirk.

“Exhibitionist,” I reply, not taking a step to hide a damn thing. Clearly, she wasn’t exactly ashamed of herself or pissed at me, so why bother? “Close the bloody door next time.”

“Take the bloody hint next time,” Dawn shoots back, sticking her tongue out at me. I goggle, and while she’s got the advantage of me, all five feet ten of her spins on her heels, stomps out, and closes the door.

This time, I hear the door lock very distinctly.

Summers women. All of ’em mad as hatters and hell on my cock.

 


End file.
